


Paper Wings

by goresque



Series: Your Seeker and You - A Guide to The Interfacing, Social, and Emotional Habits of Seekers (For Dummies) [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, Masochism, Master/Pet, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Past Relationship(s), Squirting, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Topping from the Bottom, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7986010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goresque/pseuds/goresque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron sees fit to test the loyalty of his new first lieutenant.</p><p>AKA that fic where Dreadwing spikes Megatron and Megatron is constantly comparing him to Starscream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Wings

Dreadwing knelt without hesitation. 

As he paced around his recent second, Megatron kept his gaze on the seeker’s backstrut, right between his wings. He clasped his servos behind his back, clenching and unclenching his fists in idle. “Do you wish to serve me loyally, Dreadwing?”

“I wish nothing more, master.” Dreadwing kept his head down, optics shuttered. Megatron decided he liked that. Finally, a second who knew his place.

“And you will give yourself to me unconditionally. Is this correct?”

Dreadwing shivered. Megatron noticed a flutter in his wings. It was subtle, unlike Starscream’s constant flapping. “My body is your tool, my liege. For any purpose you see fit.”

Any purpose. Yes, Megatron liked the sound of that. Already Dreadwing was submitting to him as any true second should. Starscream had never lost that fire, and Airachnid had avoided him at all costs whenever she could. Having a second who submitted wholly was exactly what he needed.

Megatron ceased his pacing behind Dreadwing. He gripped the seeker by a wing, yanking him back. The cry of pleasure didn't escape him and he squeezed. Despite his bulk, Dreadwing was still a seeker, and therefore still as fragile as his smaller kin. His thin plating gave way to dents under Megatron’s servos, but to the warlord’s delight, he crowed with arousal instead of pain.

“And you will serve me with this body, won't you?” Megatron stroked the back panels of Dreadwing’s wingspan. He listened to the seeker pant and vent heavy with every brush and stroke. “You will perform for my desires. You will fly for me, arc for me, dive for me…”

Dreadwing was trembling with every gentle touch to his wings. As large, sharp servos gripped him by the wings he gasped out with the feeling of it. “Master!” he choked out, throwing his head back. Every pinch was agony and it made his vision cycle and whirl. He grasped for nothing with his talons. He dared not touch, himself or anything else.

“And you will spread your legs for me.”

On command Dreadwing leaned until his forehelm touched the ground, his legs splayed open for his master. His entire frame shuddered with the anticipation coursing through his lines. He stayed silent, only gasping and venting raggedly to display his eagerness. His panel stayed firmly closed, his discipline not allowing him to take liberties without orders.

“Good. You're by far the most useful second I've ever had. I had begun to think all seekers were balefully disobedient.” Megatron tweaked the tips of the wings before him, pleased to see his second shaking beneath his touch. The wings were sensitive, he knew that. Starscream had never been one for wing play, but Megatron had a feeling it was more the difference in their preference of roughness. Starscream, for example, did not enjoy his wings being pinched and twisted.

Dreadwing had yet to complain.

“Yes, master. We are, master. Please put us all in our place.” Dreadwing's optics shuttered. Megatron saw the heated lust there, felt his flickering field aching to pull away from his frame. He was impressed by the discipline.

“So that is how you like to play.” Megatron hummed as he gripped Dreadwing by the wing, promptly yanking him up into a sitting position. “Has someone else already taught you your place? If you are as rebellious as you claim all seekers are, I want to know who else has taken their pleasures from your body.”

“No one, master.” Dreadwing stayed upright, stony and without wavering. It was where Megatron put him, and so he would stay. “You are my master and no one else.”

Megatron growled, using both hands to grip the wings before him. He pulled Dreadwing back, earning a gasp of pain. “Are you telling me you are untouched? Are your seals intact? Speak!”

“No, master!” Dreadwing’s vocalizer fritzed as he tossed his head back, his intake open. “I have been- been sullied by many.”

“Then I expect your experience to be of use to me.” Megatron gripped Dreadwing once more by both wings, yanking him to his feet. Unsurprisingly, Dreadwing wasn't heavy. Seekers were, after all, made of lighter metal to aid in speed and flight. He tossed Dreadwing onto his berth, listening to the clatter of metal as his newest first lieutenant recovered from the throw. “You will be sure of one thing in my berth, Dreadwing, and that is you will experience pain. I expect complete and undivided devotion from you if you are to keep your place here.”

“Yes, master.” Dreadwing dared not to move without permission, especially as Megatron bore down on him.

“I expect you to do as I say, or else you will be punished accordingly. Likewise I expect you not to act without permission.” Megatron dug his claws into the transformation seams along Dreadwing’s legs, digging into the sensitive wires and cables below his plating. “Within these quarters you are my pet to play with, and within these quarters I will not stop. Everything here is on my terms.

“Unless,” he paused and Dreadwing snapped back to attention. “You do not agree to these terms. In which case I will ask you to exit my quarters, and do not return.”

Dreadwing’s wingspan twitched where he lay on his side, a rumble purring from his engines. He met his lord’s optics and then nodded. “I agree, my lord.”

Megatron didn't speak, instead gripping Dreadwing by the wrist and snapping his arm behind his back. He pulled him to attention, then moved his servos down to help spread the seeker’s knees. He maneuvered Dreadwing how he wanted him, head down and knees wide. He kept the seeker upright, spinal strut straight as a rod.

“When I tell you to get in position, this is what I expect of you. Do you understand? Speak.”

“Yes, my liege.”

“When I tell you to get in position, no matter what you are doing, you will drop to this position. I expect it to be immediate. At first I will give you a few moments, but as your body becomes trained I will become less lenient.” Megatron circled Dreadwing, yet to join him on the berth. He was inspecting him like a buymech on auction.

Megatron finally knelt onto the berth behind Dreadwing, crunching his ailerons in sturdy servos. “In this room, you are my shareware.”

“Yes, master. As you command.” Dreadwing vibrated with the intensity of his master’s stare. He flinched when Megatron’s digits slipped into the plating at the back of his neck, digging under the metal there and pinching cables. His hackles raised on instinct, his field flaring out and his plating hissing as his hydraulics unfolded the metal to make him look bigger, a primal attempt to scare off whatever enemy his baser processor thought he was battling.

He was struck, hard at the back of his helm, then shoved down into the berth.

“You dare to bare your pitiful fangs at me like an ill behaved mechanimal?” Megatron shoved Dreadwing forward as he knelt behind the seeker. “An unruly pet. I thought you would be easier to tame than Starscream. Perhaps I was wrong.”

Dreadwing fought to settle his processor’s panic, urging his body to relax and his plating to fold back in. He rolled his field back into his body, something that, as a seeker, had Megatron curious. Starscream and his trine had never withheld their fields. In fact, it was as if they forced them down others’ throats.

“You will not hide your field from me.” Megatron unraveled his own field, caressing and coaxing at Dreadwing with it. “I want to feel you. Let me see the pleasure I take from your body.”

The seeker rumbled, his engines revving and creaking. His field slowly, but surely, enveloped him and mingled with Megatron’s. There was a certain trust there, but no fear. Megatron liked that.

“Master,” Dreadwing keened. He arched into Megatron’s cold digits, his heated ailerons twitching and flapping. He crowed in surprised as he felt sharp dentae, gnawing and tearing at his sensitive appendages. Megatron was by no means a master at wing play, but he was certainly rough and knew the sensitive spots, the places that garnered the most heated responses. That was enough to get Dreadwing going.

“You will speak words of use to me or you will not speak at all. Understood? If I did not ask you a question, you had better be offering something.” Megatron twisted a wing, and the seeker gasped and stumbled over the words to seek his lord's approval. “Good.”

Megatron moved on from the flapping ailerons and the twitching wings, down to Dreadwing’s hips, digging and clawing at seams and digging under panels to needle at exposed wires. He leaned in to vent hot air over the seeker’s interface panel, his engines purring. “I speak harshly, I know. But there will be,” he paused to give a sultry lick along the panel, earning a jerk and a thrust back from Dreadwing, “Rewards.”

Megatron thumbed the center of Dreadwing’s panel, rubbing a small, heated circle. “Open.”

There was no hesitation. The scent of lubricant hit Megatron like a train, but to his annoyance there was no gush of liquids, only a slim, oozing glob of natural lubricant between Dreadwing’s folds. “Perhaps I should be more… Attentive. If I do not have you soaking my berth then you aren't wet enough.”

Dreadwing seemed startled by Megatron’s words, though he spread his thighs further for his master. “I apologize, master.”

“No, I intend to treat this as a challenge. I will have you in a puddle of your own lubricant by the end of this cycle.” Megatron spread the tender protometal of Dreadwing’s valve, admiring the golden biolights that blinked with gentle, though insistent, arousal. He could see his calipers clenching and clicking, desperate to close down on something. “Already you are wide and open for me.”

A quiet moan was Megatron’s only response. He dipped a digit into Dreadwing’s valve, calipers catching on his talon and attempting to resize to it. “So tempting.”

Dreadwing flapped his wings, an act that Megatron recognized as desperation. It was something Starscream had done often, accompanied by screeches to get on with it. Dreadwing was silent, however, save for the quiet noises of pleasure. It was a change Megatron could get used to.

Megatron kept a digit within the seeker as he leaned in to lick a stripe from anterior node to tailpipe. He purred at the taste of lubricant. “A new taste. I enjoy that. I could use a change after that two traitorous glitches in my berth before you.”

Dreadwing didn't taste sweet, not like Airachnid had. She'd had an earthy gentleness to her lubricant, something Megatron had enjoyed. It had certainly persuaded him to put his mouth to her more often than it did Starscream, who had tasted sharp. Starscream hadn't tasted bad by any means, but it certainly had to be an acquired taste. Dreadwing had a certain tang to him that kept Megatron lapping, engines revving.

“Oh, that certainly has you going. Tell me, have you thought of this, Dreadwing? Having your master between your legs, worshipping your hardware as a reward? If you do well there will be many more rewards to come. And if not…” He struck the seeker’s aft with precision and a sharp clang. “Punishments will be issued.”

Dreadwing was practically coming undone. It was a sight that Megatron admitted to loving. He pinched one of the seeker’s folds, his glossa diving in deeper. Megatron slid a second servo into Dreadwing, curling his digits up to look for his ceiling node. He'd never found it on the same place in a mech, but he did enjoy the thrill of the hunt.

His answer came in the form of a trembling, violent, and  _ wet _ overload on Dreadwing’s part. He sputtered as he was sprayed with lubricant, jerking back. The seeker was still dripping, the viscous fluid turned fast and watery. “What was  _ that _ ?” he hissed, claws digging into Dreadwing’s thighs. The answer struck him before Dreadwing could answer. “Did you overflow?”

“Yes, master,” Dreadwing whispered, his shoulders shaking and his vents roaring.

Megatron licked his lips at the new information. A lover who overflowed upon overload was new to him, but not unwelcome. “And tell me, pet. Did you overload without permission?”

Dreadwing slumped forward, his wings wilting. There was shame in his field, and a neediness that made Megatron’s engines rev harder. “Yes, master.”

“As your punishment you are not to overload until I have. No matter what I do to you.” Megatron removed himself from Dreadwing’s array, the click of his own hardware coming open. He gripped the seeker by his wings and turned him over, forcing him to lay on his back. Megatron finally got an eye of the seeker’s spike, thick and tapered at the top. It was meant for widening a valve, opening it for transfluid. Megatron liked that. Perfect for what he had planned.

Dreadwing opened his mouth to ask what Megatron intended to do with him, only to drown himself out with a moan as his leader sunk down on his spike. He bucked, a shriek of pleasure only a seeker could give as Megatron clenched with his valve, calipers clicking tight around Dreadwing’s spike.

“Surprised? Most don't take me for a valve mech. I'm not, really. But I do admit to having… an itch, every now and then.” Megatron purred out a moan. He dragged claws down Dreadwing’s chassis, a shiver engulfing him. “It's good you can scratch it, pet.”

Dreadwing grit his dentae, helm tossed back as the wet heat of his master’s valve milked him through a wave of pleasure. His servos clenched into fists on the berth, his spinal strut arching with every grind into his delicate hips.

“I am used to seekers being  _ fragile _ .” Megatron succinctly wrapped his servos around Dreadwing’s neck cables. “Are you as easily broken as your smaller counterparts?”

Megatron had no doubt Dreadwing was made of sturdier stuff, being meant for war. He had less precision and speed and made up for it in firepower. Nevertheless, Megatron wanted to break him, beat him into submission. He was shivering at the mere thought.

“I will break if you wish it, master.”

“You certainly know what I want to hear.” Megatron squeezed harder. “I always did love breaking beautiful things.”

Dreadwing’s optics flashed white for a moment, a testament to them briefly having to reboot. Megatron wondered if he had already rendered his new pet useless. He decided he didn't care, instead opting to roll onto the seeker’s spike, purring at every ring of sensors it ignited.

“Master,” Dresdwing keened, his voice descending into low rumbles and chittering, something Megatron was all too familiar with. Vosian dialect was its own language in its own right, and he had always yearned to learn the minute differences between a click and a wing twitch and a wing twitch with a hiss.

It was something new coming from Dreadwing, a large frame, his engine deeper and rougher. His turbines didn't whine like Starscream’s did, instead his wings vibrated and hummed, his ailerons flapping as a series of chirps and clicks escaping him. Dreadwing writhed, not daring to touch his master.

Megatron stroked himself freely, his chord leaking transfluid from the tip already. He used his free hand to choke Dreadwing once more, his knees driving his frame over and down on the seeker’s spike.

He could tell Dreadwing was aching not to overload, arching and chattering in that peculiar language. Megatron growled as he remembered once asking Starscream to teach him the language, only to be met with disdain and refusal. Starscream had insisted Megatron couldn't learn because he had no external wings, and thus couldn't perform the differentiating flutters if body language that he dialect relied on.

“That's it, pet.” Megatron pulled himself back to the matter at hand with his servos, both now, coiling around Dreadwing's neck cables. The seeker looked about to permanently offline at any moment. Megatron let his grip go lax only to grasp for his spike once more; he stroked himself to a burning overload, spilling his transfluid over Dreadwing’s abdomen. The opaque lavender liquid left streaks down the seeker’s paint, which Megatron watched with amusement as his valve milked the spike within him.

“Master!” Dreadwing was thrashing beneath him. Megatron almost felt pity.

Megatron smirked, pulling his frame away from the seeker. His pathetic lieutenant writhed and bucked, sobbing at the loss of stimulation. “Come for me, pet. Overload.” Permission was all Dreadwing had been waiting for. Transfluid sprayed from his spike, landing on his chest and shoulders. Megatron was pleased with the display if nothing else.

Megatron retrieved a mesh cloth from beside his berth, already cleaning himself of excess fluids. He then set upon Dreadwing, who leaned into his touch. He said nothing as the seeker keened and twitched against his digits, sighing pleasantly as the cloth swiped away the transfluid across his frame.

When they were cleaned up Megatron leaned back into the berth, venting out a long cycle. He listened to the nervous click of Dreadwing’s turbines, but didn't say anything. It was up to the seeker whether he wanted to stay or not. Starscream had never been one to stick around- he was a hit and run type of frag. Any aftercare he needed or even wanted had been provided readily by his trine.

“Would you like me to leave you, my liege?” Dreadwing finally asked, already sliding to the edge of the berth.

Megatron vented once more. “Whatever you like, Dreadwing. I will not comfort you, but I will not object to your presence in my berth. You are welcome in it.”

He had always extended that invitation to Starscream and had never been taken up on it.

Despite his words, and despite him saying he wouldn't give physical comfort, Dreadwing sidled up to him with a purr in his engines. He chirruped and tapped his talons along Megatron’s abdomen in a calming pattern. So much for no cuddling.

Megatron supposed there were constants among seekers, no matter their differences. Physical creatures, they required constant physical assurance. Even if Starscream hadn't gotten it from him, he got it somewhere.

Megatron didn't wholly mind being the one to offer physical comfort. He slipped an arm around Dreadwing's tapered waist, rumbling out his contentment.

Oh yes. He could get used to this.


End file.
